


How to capture one's feelings

by KeiserFranz



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28406805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeiserFranz/pseuds/KeiserFranz
Summary: George comes back to London after 6 months of being abroad. A perfect time for Ringo's insecurities making an appearance, too.
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21
Collections: Starrison Holiday Gift Exchange 2020





	How to capture one's feelings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CelesteFitzgerald](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelesteFitzgerald/gifts).



> I must say I had been wrong for thinking I would get better at writing the other 2 beatles with practising, absolutely not -- I doubt the length, the pace, the characterizations, my english, george's hairstyle, the duration of the flight from India to England despite having checked that 2728 times...:))))
> 
> that being said, @CelesteFitzgerald, I hope you like this at least a tiny bit (and a big thanks to you and @rufusrant for organising this, you are the greatest!)

The early morning found Ringo wide awake, sitting cross-legged on his bed as he stared into the distance. 

His limbs moved automatically upon hearing the tone of the alarm clock, alerting him to the fact he had been stuck in the same position since 4 am.

Location changed -- from the bedroom to the kitchen -- he wordlessly helped himself to a cup of black coffee, the sour taste finally snapping him out of the trance. Spilling the rest of the beverage into the sink, Ringo satisfied his outraged taste buds by sweet tea and strawberry biscuits while musing about the peculiarity of this morning. 

But again, this wasn't the mundane kind of morning, this was the day George came home, and they would see each other after 6 months. Enough to justify a questionable choice of drink and lack of sleep.

  
And the waiting. Despite George scheduling his arrival for this day, they agreed on meeting the next one, just to make sure George wouldn't snap after the long flight from India. Ringo himself offered that option, something that now caused a wave of regret wash over his spine. Frankly, even grumpy George, who would ramble about the quality of food served was better than half a year filled with face time calls. 

Just then, as if on cue, Ringo's phone pinged, a new message from no one else then George himself. A tap revealed a picture of him, sporting a bright shirt and a hair longer than when he left the country. It read: "10 more hours and I'll be home, miss you." 

Ringo typed a reply sprinkled with too many emojis to conceal the growing anxiety. What if they changed and, in conclusion, drifted apart? He lowered the device, mentally pushing down the murky thoughts. One needed a positive attitude to tackle a situation like this, a sunny perspective to chase out the melancholy. He could do it!

\------

The hours in the work busied him enough, flocks of costumers entering and leaving the bookshop he owned. Even the presence of his colleagues seemed to ease the nagging of Ringo's inner voice pondering _what if what if what if_. That was till an elderly lady, sweet as an apple pie, dropped a stack of books about aerial catastrophes on the court. Then the real panic began.

He experienced the entire ride home with his hands clutching the phone so no message or call shall pass unnoticed. The screen wasn't allowed to black out even when he nipped to the mall for George's favourite snacks, Ringo's multitasking skills turned on. 

Fortunately, he was spared any gruesome news. ("For now," his helpful mind offered before he focused on channelling sunshine vibes, or whatever the strategy of not imagining your boyfriend as Tom Hank's Cast Away was called.)

It reminded him of Christmas to some extend, the pleasant jittery nerves, the expectation...all enhanced by the prospect of physical George, his Georgie, in front of him -- bushy brows, sharp fangs, knowing eyes and the oh so familiar sound of his laugh. If anything those 6 months had made Ringo even sappier. 

The contents of the large bags sorted out, Ringo trod to the bathroom to wake himself up with a shower before settling on the couch. He let the television to fill the flat with the inaudible murmur and focused on the dinner splayed on the table. Yet, his mind wandered towards one particular area he had PROMISED himself not to inspect.

Every attempt to concentrate on individual bites was fruitless compared to the speed Ringo's body sprang up, legs guiding him towards the bottom drawer of the table.

There.

A medium-sized book, a photo-album at a closer look, outshone the nutritions, consuming every drop of Ringo's attention.

He had intended it to be a welcome home kind of gift for George. Something to say 'hello, I missed you every second and I'm glad you are back'. It started with Ringo's need to sort out all of his photographs to familiarise himself with the amount of free time he would otherwise spend with his boyfriend. Naturally, his eyes gravitated to the photos of them, romantic ones they took with a self-timer, messy polaroids and even the ones snapped unexpectedly by their friends. And who was Ringo, ever the nostalgic lad, to resist? 

Then an idea popped out, inspired by a fragment of a sentence he overheard in work, and the next few weeks rushed in the rhythm of creating order out of tons and tons of pictures. Not yet content with the result, Ringo amended each photo with a short commentary, sharing his memories of the event.

It looked lovely. Well, had looked lovely when he checked it last time, not even a week ago, but now it somehow lost its charm and caused him to cringe at himself. Repressed doubts whispering judgements into his ears.

Right. Maybe it could be a nice gift for their 10-years-together milestone. If their relationship would survive, that is. Ringo himself didn't feel the same as 6 months ago, and he hadn't even left the country, save for a short trip to Germany to visit Astrid. 

A persistent zing of the doorbell interrupted any further contemplation, causing Ringo to groan. Another thing so untypical for his personality, he had officially turned into an old grumpy senior.

A blank yet polite expression, a speciality he mastered for his always complaining neighbour nestled on his face, Ringo opened the door, recalling John's instructions on how to stop being so polite all the time. 

And then his heart stopped.

Casually leaning on the doorframe, accompanied by one big backpack, stood his boyfriend.

\----

They launched into a staring contest, apparently, neither of them moving. Ringo wanted to speak up, but his tight throat didn't obey and so he waited and waited, slowly starting to question his own sanity.

"I-ehm," George's voice resonated through the hall, the younger man peeking to space behind Ringo. "Lousy timing?" 

"Why are you here?" Ringo's face grew red when the meaning of his sentence came back to him, the last thing he needed was to sound like someone's mother. "Jesus, I-I didn't mean to sound like **that** , 's just, we agreed on tomorrow..."

"Yep," George hummed, then added with a blush dusting his cheeks. "I guess I didn't realise how much I was going to miss you. But I can just go to my place, no pro-

Precisely at that moment, Ringo thought a curt 'bugger it' and draped himself over George's body. The touch felt so, so familiar as if they hadn't seen each other just for a day. When George's arms snaked around Ringo's torso to return the sentiment, the touch washed away most of the anxiety with its warmth and affection. Both of then reluctant to let go, the procedure of getting into the flat proved to be rather difficult, but they succeeded, basking in the presence of the other.

  
George insisted on having a shower first, leaving Ringo to order a pizza for an improvised celebration. It served him as a time window to calm his crazy nerves, because, bloody hell, his life took an unexpected turn, reminding Ringo was once again of his zodiac sign's sensitivity. 

He attempted to arrange the pizza into the most delicious formation, huffing impatiently when it still looked like a dough with vegetable sauce everywhere. Maybe he should have aimed for something fancier, like rice and veggies, now, that could be served in neat, little piles! George would love that, but then he was the one to suggest a pizza, which only-

"Made this yourself?"

Yanked back to the real world, Ringo swirled around to reply only to wish he never did. Gone was his (very feeble) hope George was referring to a bunch of drawings Ringo had created on a very leisure weekend. The prepared retort about how he might get interested in art, yes, he may paint George one day, of course, died on the tip of Ringo's tongue. 

Because George, looking very adorable and freshened up, indeed, was flipping through the album Ringo just swore to hide in the attic for when its time would come. If at all.

"Ehmm," escaped Ringo's lips as he gathered the food and sat next to his (for how long, though?) boyfriend. "This, well, this is something like a, uhu, photo compilation, nothing you should be bothered with." He uttered that with precise articulation, sneakily extending his hand to snatch the forsaken object. Failing, because George easily moved in out if his reach and Ringo wasn't built to perform some jungle predator tricks.

_"...I couldn't forget that day even if I wish to. The air was warm, filled songs of birds announcing the beginning of summer. Your hair contrasted with the green grass, taunting me because I wasn't sure if we ever cross the line of being just friends. And I desperately wanted to. Your laugh had been ringing in my ears the whole ride home, then I realised the obvious. I loved you."_

Ringo's face turned a deeper shade of red with every word George read. Familiar not only with the scribbled note but the moment it referred to, his head lacked a witty remark to ease the discomfort. Not that it wasn't true, _it was,_ but how stupid he must be to blurt it out on the very first day of their meeting. 

"Ritchie, this is-

"Crap, I know, I know, I'll just think of something else, sorry, ehm, It was the distance and, yeah..."

He shut is mouth not to launch into a string of apologises, watching intently as George placed the album back, his expression unreadable.

"I think it's a very-"

"CAN WE FORGET ABOUT IT?" Ringo raised his voice, cursing because a) he was rising his voice at George, his favourite person b) he didn't own that thing Men in Black had to delete someone's memory. The situation deteriorated when George scooted closer and instead of reciprocating the loud verbal reply kissed him. 

Kissed him. Then, when Ringo didn't move an inch, wrapped his arms around the shorter man and brought him even closer. 

"I think it's wonderful, really, the best welcoming gift to ever receive. So sweet."

The initial shock wearing off, Ringo dared to gaze up. 

"Really? Not too, well, too sappy? Too much?"

"Absolutely not, I don't think it's possible for you to be too much or too sappy, ever."

Everything, the words and the emotion they conveyed, George warm presence, the steady heartbeat under Ringo's ear, it all highlighted their feelings. And for the first time, Ringo allowed himself to perceive the love directed at him, however strange that seemed. The tight embrace, fingers raking through his hair, occasionally tracing his features, as well as half-whispered words of affection, it all fell together, melted with his own feelings and left no space for a debate. George loved him the very same way, maybe more, than he did before his departure. 

And suddenly, teetering on the verge of sleep, as he registered George lifting him up and pacing to the bedroom, he couldn't wait to go through the photos together.


End file.
